Commissions for the wonderful @kurapls and her fic, To Ruination If you like SKK and Fyoya, this is the perfect fic for you! It’s a great mix of fluff and funny scenes and then of course, the angst. The fyoya picture is under the cut
Thank you for commissioning me! <3
Someone asked me to describe home, And I started talking about your hair color And the sound of your voice And the taste of your lips And how your skin feels like Until I realized They had expected to hear a place.
Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays @museelo It was so nice to chat with you and get to know you better. It’s been a long a while for me since I participated in a secret santa/valentine etc thingie so I was a bit rusty but I hope you enjoyed our conversations as much as I did and it wasn’t a disappointment for you.
And here is your christmas gift, hope you like it <3 (insp.)
I hope you are having a good week and are excited for your prompts on December 1st.
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cause he’s had a pre-game ritual since he was a little kid.
maybe it’s what alicia made him before every game. or maybe it was the only thing he’d eat for several months, the way kids go through picky phases of only eating one or two things. or maybe he had one before he scored his first goal in whatever little league hockey thing he did and he grew up hearing about hockey superstitions and pre-game rituals and all that from bob so he began asking for one before every single game.
maybe it’s all he knew how to make himself when he got older, at the billet family’s house, on roadies. maybe it was the only thing he could concentrate on when his anxiety got so bad that his hands shook and his face went numb.
maybe he couldn’t even smell peanut butter without gagging when he got out of rehab. maybe he didn’t touch his mother’s favorite jams and jellies the whole time he was coaching, filling out college apps, lying awake at night in his childhood bedroom, more empty than anxious.
maybe he was on his own tour of the haus as a frog and he wandered into the kitchen, the way bitty would two years later, and found a perfectly-made pb&j sitting on the counter (courtesy of johnson, who suddenly had to step out?) and the sight of it didn’t make him feel sick to his stomach.
(maybe, many years down the line, he’ll make himself one, very slowly, very carefully, and eat it as he waits for bitty to come home from work, absently toying with the small ring box in his pocket.)